Something between a short story and poetry about love

Your voice rolled over me; so lovely, so shocking, that I closed my eyes and lay back to control it. I held your hand and held back the tears because inside my chest I was shattering to tiny pieces of raw electrified emotion, your voice building me up and breaking me down in exquisite agony and I was being overwhelmed, drowning beneath the beating waves of your voice. I did not let you see the tempest I had suddenly become because you would not understand the tears in my eyes were not woe—indeed, dear heart, I would not be able to explain this defeat of my inner composure.

Is this what unfiltered, concentrated love is? Then every day before this I had been dying—parched of devotion and starving of passion as silently and unknowingly as johnny-jump-ups under a desert sun. But you, my love, were the gentle hands that placed me in the garden green and fed me cool water as you whispered sweet nothings with all the patience of someone already in love.

Submitted: September 10, 2015

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